


Playing House

by lilyconrad



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One-Shot, all choked up, as fluffy as you can get with these two anyway, happy home life, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9154606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad
Summary: Just another typical night at home with one of Gotham's odder couples.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verany/gifts).



He paces barefoot over the hardwood floors and worn rugs of the living room, his footsteps back and forth loud and soft in a steady, alternating rhythm as he passes from the rough, faded colors to the wood and back again. “Are they done?” Pausing, the man looks toward the kitchen, his handsome face lined with vicious scars not unlike the apartment in its juxtaposition of normalcy and the bizarre. Every wall, the ceiling, and even the floor has a few old horror movies posters sloppily taped or glued down at crooked angles: zombies and vampires and wide-eyed heroines gape from under the plain, boring coffee table and the Ikea art prints neatly hung on the walls. “Are they done yet?” **  
**

“No, they’re not done yet,” a dark-haired man says calmly from the sofa, where he is curled up hand-sewing a seam on a small, shapeless pile of burlap. His bare feet are tucked under him, and he is as sedate and still as the other is jittery and perpetually in motion as he carefully threads his needle and pushes it into the fabric. “Patience, Ace.”

“Ok, Strawman.”

Jonathan grins down at his sewing and pulls the needle through. He and the Joker have traded nicknames for as long as they’ve known each other, but that’s a particularly good one. He’ll have to remember that one.

 _You realize he’s insulting us with that, don’t you?_ a low whisper rasps through his mind, an echo of himself, strange and protective and one of the reasons for the Creature from the Black Lagoon glaring down at him from directly above on the ceiling.

_Yes, I know what a ‘strawman’ is. It’s a logical fallacy to be avoided in proper debate. It’s no worse than me calling him every face card but the Joker._

_He doesn’t deserve treats, Jonathan_ , the voice pouts, one that would terrify most but only makes Jonathan close his eyes for a moment and tilt his head affectionately.

_Shhh. He does, ‘Crow. He’s had a rough day._

The Joker turns toward the kitchen and back to him again, raking marker-stained hands through his faded green hair. “Now?”

“About five or six minutes more. Why don’t you work on that plan of yours?” Jonathan counters, lifting his full hands to vaguely gesture toward the wall behind them. A small patch is covered in rough, violent script written in Sharpie, something he can’t quite read from here save a few words about ‘river’ and ‘bombs’. Jonathan doesn’t mind. Every time the Joker has an idea he has to write it down, and every time he’s written it, expunged it from the strange, primal storm of his mind and committed it to conscious memory, Jonathan covers it up with a poster. _I think that original Candyman poster I got last week would look nice there._ “Did you lose your Sharpie?”

“No,” the Joker says childishly, twisting his mouth into a frown, the lines on the side of his face pulled taut as he holds up the small grey and black marker with a flourish and then points it over at Jonathan. “He’s making fun of me again, isn’t he?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got that sphinx-at-the-bottom-of-the-sea look again. He is, isn’t he?” The Joker stalks over and leans in close, one hand tight on the back of the sofa and the other on the arm, green eyes searching Jonathan’s for either a fight or a diversion from the interminable waiting he’s been subjected to for the last twenty-seven minutes. “Come on out, Ziploc. Come play with Daddy.”

Jonathan is there and then he isn’t, suddenly thrown so far back into his own mind he has to struggle not to fade out completely for the evening. As it is, he manages to keep just enough hold on himself he can watch, through something akin to antique glass, his own hands drop the burlap and shoot up to clench around the Joker’s neck. _We don’t need to do this!_ he calls down the long, darkened hallway of his soul.

_Yes, we do!_

“There you are,” the Joker says with a wincing smile as the cool fingers clamp down, making no attempt to pull away.

A lower voice, its harsh and grating tones made even stranger by the pretty lips it escapes from, comes from Jonathan. “You don’t deserve him.”

“Gonna do something about it?” the Joker teases, lifting an eyebrow even as he forces the words out through an increasingly restricted airway.

“I could kill you,” the slender man says, squeezing tighter.

“And who would you have fun with? Who would Jonathan have fun with?” He gives up trying to say anything else, starting to actively choke, and it infuriates the shadow living inside Jonathan that he’s right.

The long-term dating pool for the criminally insane is woefully small in this town.

But that doesn’t keep him from holding his grip and pushing the Joker to his knees before he lets go, pushing him just past that glazed look of actual enjoyment to one of vague, theoretical concern about what a lack of airflow can do to the brain. Annoyed, he shoves the Joker to sprawl on the hardwood floor, and by the time the Joker’s sat back up, coughing and laughing and cross-legged atop a _Dracula_ poster half-hidden by a rug, Jonathan is back again.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sighing and shaking his head as the Joker unsteadily climbs to his feet.

“Great,” he coughs, clearly turned on from the wild look he gives Jonathan, green eyes bright as he runs a hand along the tender lines of his own throat. “Always love getting a hug from Hacky Sack. But ones from you are better…”

Jonathan holds up the wad of fabric. “Not tonight. I’m busy. But I think they’re done,” he smiles, nodding toward the kitchen.  
  
“Ooo!” the Joker exclaims, hurrying off into the kitchen before his voice echoes back out into the living room. “Aww, you put down plastic for me!”

“I did. Enjoy!” he calls back.

The Joker looks down at the two men tied down to plain kitchen chairs, their eyes darting around mindlessly and their hands clawing at the air now that Jonathan’s drug has taken full effect.

They shriek, their screams muffled and breathless through their gags, as the Joker jumps to stand on the table between them, landing with a loud thump.

He grins down at them, trying to decide who to play with first.


End file.
